


you impress with that first impression

by kuro49



Series: thirty days of writing [8]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya Kuryakin remains barely human in Napoleon Solo's eyes but he fucks very much like one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you impress with that first impression

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt: _face on the other side of a dark window._
> 
> the conversational flow of this drabble is worthy of the cheapest, shittiest pornos out there.

When he sees him through the darkness of East Berlin, through the window of Gaby’s car as they speed through alleyways and empty streets, Napoleon Solo does not imagine that they will be here, like this.

He does not mean the part where Peril has a hand around his wrist in a grip that could crush bone. No, that Napoleon can imagine just fine. It is the part where Napoleon has him bodily pressed against the door to their shared hotel room and the KGB agent has yet to throw him over his shoulders and on to the ground. Where he simply has his fingers around Napoleon's wrist in a kind of warning that the Red Peril has never been taught.

Illya Kuryakin can break his bones if he wants.

He doesn’t is what is telling, and it is almost impressive if Napoleon is the kind of man to be easily impressed. He is going soft on him is what he is saying with that grip that would not even make Gaby flinch, and Napoleon does not like that. He likes him on his toes even though he’s got a good ten centimetres on him. He likes him on the offence and it is entirely, wholeheartedly provoking of him to confess.

“Bad habit.”

Napoleon is not looking one bit sheepish even though he is caught with his hands all red, fingers going for that watch (again). He doubts this will get old for him, not when Peril always gives him exactly what he is looking for. Even when the expression on his face hardly changes at all.

“That is not an apology, cowboy.”

And here, like this, Mother Russia’s little boy still insists on calling him a cowboy.

This is not the first time Napoleon wants to make this joke because he has taste even though he is a thief that made money off of the war. But that scowl over Illya’s face, the sight of it alone makes him want to do many terrible things, and Napoleon has always been a man easily tempted.

“You really shouldn’t be calling me cowboy unless you are willing to let me ride you, Peril.”

His intentions are clear.

He still has him against the door, his mouth not closed but close, his voice dropping low. Napoleon wants Illya flustered, wants him with a slow red crawling up from the collar of his clothes. Napoleon does not get what he wants when the silence between them gives way to this.

This is Illya sliding his hand from Solo's wrist to grip him by the forearm, turning them around without warning to slam Napoleon against the back of the hotel room door instead. Illya will rarely be caught smiling, and the thing his mouth is doing is probably not exactly a smile but it is the closest thing Napoleon has seen directed at him. His back might be bruised by the end of it but Napoleon likes that he can still be caught off guard.

And this, this is exactly that.

“Why did you not say so earlier, _cowboy_.”

Illya Kuryakin remains barely human in his eyes but he fucks very much like one.

 

(The CIA might be good with his hands but Illya has to admit, the man isn’t so bad with his entire body. Both hands tied behind his back with one of Gaby’s nice silk scarf, he remembers seeing the other in the dark, through the windshield of the car and aims for his head. The rise of his hips, the slam of it down. The way the cowboy looks to him, eyes a very bright blue, gleaming like he’s won something out of this that isn’t just a very good fuck.

Illya Kuryakin sees him now, and it is a very different perspective with how wide he opens his mouth to the push of two fingers between his lips.

After all, the chandelier of the nice hotel room leaves very little to the imagination.)


End file.
